


The Drowned God’s Justice

by qodarkness



Series: The Drowned God's Champion [2]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-20
Updated: 2019-09-20
Packaged: 2020-10-24 17:51:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20710106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/qodarkness/pseuds/qodarkness
Summary: Theon Greyjoy has risen again, the Drowned God’s champion. Sansa Stark is quite pleased about the whole thing. Cersei Lannister, less so.This is set in the same universe as I’ll Crawl Home To Her and Rising Again and is set where the beginning of this story overlaps with the end of I’ll Crawl Home To Her.





	The Drowned God’s Justice

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gingersprite](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gingersprite/gifts), [Attaining](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Attaining/gifts).
  * Inspired by [i'll crawl home to her](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20695670) by [gingersprite](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gingersprite/pseuds/gingersprite). 

Cersei Lannister, sensibly, had retreated to her apartments at the top of Maegor’s Holdfast when the battle had commenced in Blackwater Bay. She wasn’t absolutely safe there, she knew, not when dragons flew in the sky, but Euron had the dragonhorn and that gave her a certain comfort.

She listened to it sound now, heard the screams of the dragons in response, smiled into her cup of wine, picturing that silver-haired bitch and her black-haired bastard lover falling to the deaths in the water as their dragons burned Dothraki and Unsullied and Northerners alike. Again and again, the dragonhorn sounded and Cersei thought she could almost hear the screams of the dying floating to her on the wind. She celebrated by pouring herself another cup of wine, raising it in a toast to her Ironborn lover. She looked forward to their celebration after they had won the battle. Then she would wait until he had sent the Golden Company home on his Iron Fleet and persuade Jaime to cut the piratical idiot’s throat.

She was mourning slightly the emptiness of the wine pitcher and trying to remember where they had stored further pitchers when the roof of the Holdfast was peeled back by a truly immense tentacle that reached in, thinned and stretched and grabbed her around the waist, plucking her into the air. She screamed and beat at the tentacle as she rode dizzyingly through the sky and over the walls of the keep to be deposited on the shores of Blackwater Bay.

The tentacle did not let go of her but it loosened as she caught her breath, stopped her screaming, finally stood upright to see what had happened.

The first thing she saw was the vastness of the kraken that rested in the shallow water at the edge of Blackwater Bay, its immense bulk shouldering through the remnants of the Iron Fleet, burnt and smouldering and broken apart.

The second thing she saw was Daenerys and her northern bastard, their dragons flying lazy circles in the sky behind the kraken’s body.

The third thing she saw was… “Theon Greyjoy!” Cersei shrieked. “You’re dead.”

Theon shrugged, definitely and decidedly not dead, clad in the light armour of the Ironborn. “I got better,” he said, nonchalantly. 

“Theon, be serious,” said Sansa Stark from where she stood beside him.

Beside him, noted Cersei. Their fingers intertwined, as if Sansa would never again let go of the Greyjoy boy.

“He is being serious. This is him being serious,” said Yara Greyjoy, dryly, from where she stood, the women flanking Theon.

“No,” said Theon, staring at Cersei. “This is me being serious,” and the kraken’s tentacle suddenly tightened around Cersei, until she gasped and grabbed for it, her breath suddenly shallow. “You left us to the dead,” he said quietly. 

“Yes, yes,” shrieked Cersei, frantically yanking at the tentacle and then it loosened and let her stand.

“You wanted the dead to kill us,” said Sansa. “The Night King’s army would destroy Daenerys’s forces and the North and you would be free to rule over the South until you managed to drink yourself to death. Or Jaime finally got sick enough of you to take your head. He’s slain a king before. It would surely be in him to slay a queen.” 

“Jaime would not kill me,” said Cersei and gasped and then stilled as the tentacle pulsed around her.

“I don’t know,” replied Yara, raising an eyebrow. “I mean I’m willing to kill you just because you’re stupid enough to fuck Euron Greyjoy. I’m fairly certain Jaime wouldn’t really mind doing it, if he knew. Especially now Ser Brienne is warming his bed.” She laughed at the look on Cersei’s face. “Didn’t you know that yet, petty queen? Your loyal brother doesn’t want to fuck you any more.”

“And Euron Greyjoy’s burnt body lies at the bottom of Blackwater Bay,” said Theon. “Or possibly floats around on top as a greasy smear. It was a very impressive fireball. It’s a shame you missed it.”

“So he won’t want to fuck you either,’ added Yara.

Sansa frowned. “Should we really taunt her? It seems a little… undignified.” She raised a shoulder when Theon glanced at her. “I got tired of words as weapons a long time ago.”

“Because of her,” pointed out Yara and Sansa nodded.

“Yara is right,” said Theon. “You are a petty queen. A petty tyrant. A petty person who kills to keep your grip not just on power but on your petty trinkets and toys and your petty men. Jaime outgrew you. Everyone outgrew you. Except for Euron and – well,” Theon hitched up a shoulder, “that’s hardly a recommendation.”

“I am the Queen,” hissed Cersei. “Not that silver-haired bitch. Not either of the two whores who flank you.” Discretion, to be honest, had never been one of Cersei’s strong points.

“Euron took your death,” said Theon and though his voice was quiet, it sliced across the bay, reaching the ears of all who had taken the field, all who had risked falling to try and loosen Cersei’s desperate grip on power. There were, apparently, benefits to being a god’s champion. “You should have died in dragonfire. It would have been fitting. But if Euron took your death, then I think you should have his.”

The kraken’s tentacle tightened slightly but no further.

_ ~You want to do this?~ _ The Drowned God’s voice was quiet in Theon’s mind but he would have heard it if he had been in the centre of battle. 

_~If I may,~ _Theon responded. ~_It_ _will_ _make things… easier. Later.~_

_ ~Then put your hand on her throat,~ _ instructed the Drowned God.

Gently, Theon released Sansa’s hand, unwound her fingers from his as a second tentacle snaked past him, pinned Cersei’s arms to her side. He stepped forward to Cersei and carefully (because he wouldn’t have put it past her to bite) laid his hand upon her neck.

She looked at him, her eyes full of fury, but then they widened, and widened, and widened again. Her mouth opened then, but what came out was not more petty words, but a great gush of seawater, and then she was falling down, her body crumpling even as the tentacles let her go, as she fell to her knees. She did not take her eyes from Theon as she drowned on dry land.

“The Drowned God serves justice on you, Cersei Lannister,” said Theon, his voice carrying to all in King’s Landing and the golden queen choked and drowned and died upon the shores of Blackwater Bay.

Yara looked down at Cersei’s body with contempt. “That was well done, little brother,” she said.

“Yes,” affirmed Sansa and ~_Yes - it is as it was meant to be_,~ affirmed the Drowned God and Theon nodded.

The kraken’s tentacle lifted her body high into the air and then it slid backwards into the sea, drawing the dead queen down with it into the depths for the fish to feast on. 

***

It took some time to organise the parley. Tyrion and Daenerys wanted to hold it away from the water, far enough that the kraken could not be summoned to Theon’s side. 

“Then the dragons are kept away,” said Theon, stubbornly, and would not yield. Tyrion and Jon would have agreed, but Daenerys wanted her children by her side and was as stubborn as Theon. 

“You could yield,” Sansa counselled Theon as they shared a meal in Yara’s tent. “You can have it bring you the dragonhorn before the parley, so Daenerys cannot turn the dragons against anyone.”

“And wouldn’t that tempt her to try and destroy it and me while we’re right there in front of her? Not because of me, particularly, but why wouldn’t she try and destroy something that can turn her dragons against her? It is safe where it is, in the depths, with the kraken.” Theon took a bite of his bread, continued talking (if Lady Catelyn couldn’t break him of talking with his mouth full, having a god living in his head sometimes wasn’t going to make a difference). “This is a parley, not her coronation. She doesn’t need her dragons to negotiate.”

Sansa sighed and after they had finished their dinner, sought out Jon and Tyrion, finding their tents far across the fields. “He will not yield,” she said. “Daenerys is not the only power in this land, Jon. Can you not make her understand?”

“Perhaps she understands too much,” said Jon and Tyrion nodded. “The Night King took Viserion from her. Took much of her army from her. Euron nearly turned the dragons against her. Theon frightens her, Sansa. He can call upon the power of a god. Or Dany thinks he can, at least.” Jon looked at Sansa, curious. “Can he?” he asked. 

Sansa shrugged. “I don’t know,” she said. “He’s Theon. He’s just… Theon. He is the man he grew to be. The man who saved me. He is a man of honour now. He would not call upon the god during a parley.”

“If you get him to swear to that,” sighed Jon, “I will try and get Dany to agree.”

*****

It was hot on the parley grounds, summer slowly seeping back into Westeros. The negotiations around the five kingdoms who had not staked claims had inched forward agonisingly. Prince Lysandyr Martell, though young, fought fiercely to keep as much Dornish independence as he thought prudent. The other Lords were more willing to cede to Daenerys’s reign.

(Privately, Theon whispered to Sansa and Yara that he was fairly certain that this was so Daenerys could be bankrupted by paying all the costs of restoring King’s Landing and all the other territories that would plead poor and hold out their hands for Targaryen gold. 

“Of course it is,” responded Yara. “It’s what I’d do if the Iron Islands had anything worth fucking restoring. Maybe I could borrow a dragon to help rebuild the bridge to the Kitchen Keep? Could be handy.”

Sansa, stifling completely inappropriate giggles at the mental picture of Yara ordering around a dragon, told them both to shush and then smiled serenely, the picture of unruffled grace when Daenerys glanced sharply at them.)

When it came to the Iron Islands, Daenerys held to her word, given so long ago to Yara and Theon, to give them their independence.

And then there was the North. It was thought that it would be easy, the King in the North having long since bent the knee. Except Jon Snow stepped into the centre of the parley and renounced his claim to the throne, to the North. “It is not my birthright,” he said, but would not be drawn further on that matter, though the northern Lords pressed. “I will remain with Queen Daenerys to assist with rebuilding King’s Landing.”

“Then Bran Stark inherits Winterfell,” said Daenerys. 

But Bran also renounced his claim. “There is not enough of Bran Stark left,” he said, quietly. “I am the three-eyed raven and that is my place in the world. If Queen Daenerys will have me, then I will remain with her as her Master of Whispers. It seems… a suitable use for what I know.”

The rustling shock ran throughout the parley grounds. To have a man who knew _ everything _ as Master of Whispers…

“Then,” said Daenerys and turned back to face Sansa. “Lady Sansa. You will rule Winterfell in the absence of your brother.” Sansa wondered if anyone else noted that she did not say brothers. 

“I will rule the North,” replied Sansa. “The North does not bend the knee to the South, Queen Daenerys. Not anymore. You are too far from us, you have no time for us, our problems are not your problems. The North has been pulled into the wars of the South over and over again. Leave us be to go back to our wintry halls, to man the Wall, to restore our hearths and find families to fill the places of all of those that are lost to us.”

Theon watched the rage suffuse Daenerys’s face, facing Sansa’s imperturbable poise. He waited until the Dragon Queen opened her mouth to say something and stood up. 

“Queen Daenerys,” he said. “The North are not your enemies. Nor are they your subjects. The North seeks to be your ally, in the same way as the Iron Islands. You can rage and demand and send your dragons to try and keep a territory that does not want you and that you cannot afford to keep. But be warned that, if you choose to do so, you will come to the North alone. I will call the sea across the Neck until the North stands apart, and I will send the creatures of the sea to sink the ships that carry your armies and I will call the kraken to bring the dragonhorn and I will end your dragons. If you believe you can take the North alone, then lay claim to it now. Or cede, and greet them as your allies and your friends. It is your choice, Queen Daenerys.”

*****

Sansa’s cheeks were flushed, whether with the effects of the wine they had been drinking or because of the quite decidedly excellent kisses she had been exchanging with Theon when Yara wasn’t actually directly speaking to them at that exact moment, it was difficult to tell. 

“To Queen Yara.” Theon raised his glass in yet another toast, leaning forward in his chair in a bow to his sister that definitely skated the edge of being a bit too far forward and tipping him out of his chair. There had been quite a lot of wine consumed that night. 

“To Queen Sansa,” responded Yara and the three of them cheered again.

“Could you really,” asked Sansa, the drink making her just a little too serious and owl-eyed, “call the sea up across the Neck? Would the Drowned God do that for you?”

“Don’t know,” responded Theon, cheerfully. “But it sounded very impressive, didn’t it?”

~_It depends,~ _ said the Drowned God. 

“Depends on what?” asked Theon. 

~_On how nicely you ask,~ _replied the god and Theon laughed. He’d always got the impression that the Drowned God was as dour and unlovely as Uncle Aeron, but he was beginning to suspect that there was a sly sense of humour there that no-one had told him about. 

The two Queens were staring at him, eyes round. “Apparently I can. If I ask nicely,” Theon told them, and if anything their eyes got rounder. 

~_Your sister is Queen now?~ _the Drowned God asked him. 

~_As much as she can be without one of your priests here to send her to your halls.~ _ Theon shrugged and Sansa mouthed “are you talking to him right now?” at him and took a decent swig from her glass when he nodded. 

~_Theon Greyjoy,~ _ said the Drowned God, and he said the words slowly, as if he’d just worked out that Theon’s brain was not at its best right now. ~ _ You are my champion. Why would you need a priest?~ _

*****

Drowning his sister, it turned out, was easier than he had expected. 

She had trusted him utterly, listened to the words he spoke and slipped beneath the waves easily. She had barely even struggled as her lungs filled with water, going easily and with grace towards her god. 

When he carried her from the sea, to the centre of the small circle of Ironborn who had come with Yara or had been rescued from the destruction of the Iron Fleet, she had stayed still and silent beneath his hands for far longer than was usual. Theon considered panicking, watching that emotion start to break out among the surrounding men, but the Drowned God’s presence was calm and reassuring. 

And at last she convulsed beneath his hands, water forced out of her mouth. She coughed and bent forward and over, bringing the last of the seawater out of her lungs. 

Finally, reborn, she stared up at Theon. “I walked in the Drowned God’s halls,” she said, almost disbelieving. “He spoke to me. I promised… I promised to restore the glory of the Iron Islands. To be strong for him and brave and to make him strong men and happy women and fat babies to fill his halls in their time. He blessed me.”

“He likes you,” replied Theon and Yara suddenly laughed. 

“Fuck’s sake, Theon,” she said. “He’s your god. You’re not supposed to make him sound like… like… like he’s your friend.”

~_Are you my friend?~ _asked the Drowned God. 

Theon considered the question carefully. ~_I would like to be,~ _he responded eventually. 

The Drowned God did not respond, but Theon’s mind filled with warmth. ~_I like this Queen Yara,~ _ the god said. ~_You were right. She will bring honour to my people and will come to me trailing clouds of glory when she comes. Also, she says fuck a lot. Even in my halls. Not many do that. I like that.~ _

Theon laughed for a long time at that.

*****

Preparations to leave continued apace. Several of the southern Lords had already left, including Prince Lysandyr, though not before he had spent many hours seeking Sansa’s advice on how to manage the Dornish relationship with Queen Daenerys. 

Theon and Sansa had not been all that good at managing the packing that was necessary to break up a camp and organise a baggage train. This almost certainly had to do, Theon pointed out to Sansa, with the fact that they spent a truly ridiculous amount of time kissing. She had agreed that he had a good point, that he had made it well, and then pulled him close again, her mouth capturing his as if she wanted never to let him remove it. 

“If you’re going to keep doing this,” observed Yara, one evening when she’d managed to actually disengage her brother from Sansa and get him to start work on packing up some of her tent (though that had run into a bit of an obstacle when they decided that the best way to move a few tankards of ale was by drinking it), “you’re going to have to marry her.”

“You would let me?” Theon asked, almost shyly. 

“Theon,” said Yara, and then she sighed. She started again. “Theon. I have never seen you happy. Never. Until now. These last few weeks. I would have you marry her with my blessing.”

“I would be far from the sea,” said Theon, and doubt crept into his voice.

~_Theon Greyjoy,~ _ said the Drowned God, ~_You are made of the sea. You carry it with you everywhere and everywhere you are, there is the sea. Wherever you die, whenever you die, you will come back to my halls.~ _

“Well,” said Theon to Yara (who was getting used to suddenly hearing half of a conversation), “that’s alright, then.”

*****

Their betrothal was met with varying levels of enthusiasm by the Northern Lords and by Daenerys and her allies, but no one felt particularly like disagreeing with the choices of a man who could call the kraken. Not when they were camped so close to Blackwater Bay, anyway. 

Jon had been grudging, but Sansa expected that. There were some things that fell out of childhood that could not be fixed, even by death and resurrection. Bran had given his blessing as coolly as he did anything. Tyrion refused to stop laughing and every time Sansa scolded him, he laughed harder, until he was literally rolling on the ground holding his sides as Sansa stood over him, laughing and scolding him alternately. 

~_I like this woman you have chosen,~ _ observed the Drowned God, watching the clownish play between Sansa and her ex-husband. ~_She is robust._~

Theon decided that he might not pass that compliment on to Sansa. ~_She is the best and bravest woman in all of Westeros. Though don’t tell Queen Yara I said that.~ _

The Drowned God’s laugh echoed through Theon’s head. ~_You are strong and she is happy. Why have you not yet done what you promised, Theon Greyjoy? Why have you not yet made me fat babies with her?” _

Theon’s mouth hung open and then closed with a snap, the deepest of blushes rising up from his collar. He was very glad Tyrion was laughing too hard to notice him. ~_Sansa is a Queen,~ _ he told the Drowned God. ~_We need to be married before we can make fat babies. Or skinny babies. Or any kind of babies.~ _

_~What does it mean, to be married?~ _asked the Drowned God. 

~_It’s… it’s to tell the gods that you are bound to this person now. That your children will be recognised and inherit your titles and your land. And you ask that the gods bless your union…~ _Theon trailed off as he realised how ridiculous what he was saying was.

_ ~To ask the gods bless your union,~ _ said the god, and Theon was fairly certain that he was being affectionately mocked. ~_If you would seek that, then bring your Sansa to the shores tomorrow evening, at the hour when the sun touches the horizon. Come to me here,~ _said the god and left a picture in Theon’s head of the place on the Bay he would be. 

*****

He and Sansa were wearing the best clothes they could find (and having been dead, and risen from the sea on the back of a kraken, Theon’s wardrobe choices were not extensive). Yara had agreed to come with them, and then they had told others and a strange collection of people were with them on the shore. Jon was there, and Daenerys, and she almost looked happy as her hand clutched Jon’s. Bran had been carried there by Jaime (it was too rough to push his chair) and Ser Brienne was at Jaime’s side. Tyrion promised he wouldn’t protest the marriage from his seat on the sand and was therefore allowed to stay. There were a small number of Ironborn, and some Northern folk, including a woman Sansa didn’t know, but who was so relentlessly ordinary and forgettable that Sansa was fairly certain it was Arya wearing one of her faces. 

The moment the sun touched the horizon, the Drowned God rose from the sea. “Theon Greyjoy,” he said. “You seek the god’s blessings to love this woman?” he asked. 

“Close enough,” responded Theon and smiled. 

“She does not belong to me,” said the Drowned God. “You know this. She belongs to the old gods and the new. I would have you in the halls of the dead at my right hand when your life ends. I cannot offer that to her.”

“So you have said,” replied Theon, his mouth suddenly dry. 

“I have asked for you,” said the Drowned God. “And they have agreed.” 

The light was turning pink now and it glanced off the seven forms that rose from the sea behind the Drowned God. And he nodded at the shore and turning, Theon and Sansa saw a shade rise from the stream that ran into the sea, the eyes of the old gods open in the trunks of the largest trees that lived on the shore. 

“We have agreed,” said the new gods, seven voices blending into one and on the shore, the shade of the old god nodded. 

“You both may choose,” said the Drowned God. “You can be together in my halls, or you can be together with the dead that dwell in the houses of the new gods. You can choose and choose anew and move between them as it suits. For all the days of the world, you can be together.”

Theon looked at Sansa. “Forever?” he asked. 

“Yes,” she said. “I like the sound of forever.”

“So do I,” said Theon. 

They turned back as one of the new gods moved forward, nodding to the Drowned God as she passed him. It was the Maiden and she stood in front of them, her beauty and her purity shining from her. She reached out then and touched both of their foreheads lightly. 

“I do not take your memories,” she said, her voice achingly beautiful (and Theon could see Tyrion out of the corner of his eyes, his friend’s mouth hanging open as he gazed at the Maiden with blinding adoration). “But I take the pain those memories give you both. Your love does not need that in its path.”

“Thank you,” said Sansa, and her eyes suddenly filled with tears that she blinked away. 

“Well,” said the Drowned God as the Maiden went back to join the Seven.

“Well?” responded Theon. 

“Did you not want the gods to bless your union? Isn’t that what was needed?” said the Drowned God. 

“Fuck’s sake, Theon,” said Yara. “Kiss her. He’s telling you you’re married, little brother.”

“Oh,” said Theon and Sansa in unison and then he turned and met her halfway, their lips brushing lightly, the gentlest of promises made with that kiss. 

When they turned back, the Seven were gone, as were the shades of the old gods. “Did you just… get married… by _ all _the gods?” Jon asked. 

“Apparently so,” replied Sansa and laughed, pressing the back of her hand against her mouth for a moment and then leaning forward and kissing Theon again. 

“Good,” said the Drowned God. “That is done. Now go and do what you have promised me, Theon Greyjoy. Go and make me fat babies that I can dangle on my knee.”

The sun had dipped low on the horizon now, the light so red that it was difficult to tell exactly how hard Theon and Sansa blushed at what the Drowned God said. Then the god was gone and Yara whistled suddenly, and Jon and Dany yelled something, backed up by Tyrion and Theon grabbed Sansa’s hand and led her back from the shores towards the distant field where her tent waited for them. 

Faster and faster they went, Sansa lifting her skirts as he clutched her hand and pulled her onwards, and both of them could barely breathe from the laughter that bubbled up in both of them, but nonetheless, by the time they reached the camp, they were running. 

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly, writing Theon talking to the Drowned God is just the most wonderful, ridiculous fun (and that’s why I wrote this).
> 
> This is for Attaining and gingersprite, who both love Theon as the Drowned God’s champion. Particularly gingersprite, who has let me take her story and run amok with it!
> 
> And yes for those paying attention. I did manage to sneak fulfilling the valonqar prophecy in there :)


End file.
